


Freedom's Just Another Word

by whichclothes



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-24
Updated: 2010-04-24
Packaged: 2017-10-09 03:02:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/82323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whichclothes/pseuds/whichclothes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-NFA, and ignoring the comics. Spike's rescue comes from an unlikely source.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Freedom's Just Another Word

**Author's Note:**

> My nekid numbers prompt over at [](http://community.livejournal.com/nekid_spike/profile)[**nekid_spike**](http://community.livejournal.com/nekid_spike/)  this month is Lindsey, tent, nightclub. So this is what I came up with over breakfast this morning. Blame the double espresso, if you like. A slightly different version of this is going to be incorporated into the long fic I'm writing now, but I think this stands up on its own. And you can blame [](http://kudagirl.livejournal.com/profile)[**kudagirl**](http://kudagirl.livejournal.com/)  for giving me the earworm from which I stole the title. ;-)

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[angel](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/angel), [freedom's just another word](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/freedom%27s%20just%20another%20word), [lindsey](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/lindsey), [spike](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike)  
  
---|---  
  
_**Freedom's Just Another Word (1/1)**_  
**Title:** Freedom's Just Another Word (1/1)  
**Characters:** Spike, Lindsey, hints of Angel  
**Rating:** PG  
**Summary: **Post-NFA, and ignoring the comics. Spike's rescue comes from an unlikely source.  
**Author's Note:** My nekid numbers prompt over at [](http://community.livejournal.com/nekid_spike/profile)[**nekid_spike**](http://community.livejournal.com/nekid_spike/)  this month is Lindsey, tent, nightclub. So this is what I came up with over breakfast this morning. Blame the double espresso, if you like. A slightly different version of this is going to be incorporated into the long fic I'm writing now, but I think this stands up on its own. And you can blame [](http://kudagirl.livejournal.com/profile)[**kudagirl**](http://kudagirl.livejournal.com/)  for giving me the earworm from which I stole the title. ;-)

**Freedom’s Just Another Word**

 

 

It was a huge tent, with broad red and white stripes, and three tall peaks in the roof. By mid-day, the heat within the canvas walls was stifling, and the only sounds were the small shufflings of the creatures within their cages. The floor beneath them was rough wood, splintery and uncomfortable. Spike would just lie curled on his side in the muffled darkness, waiting.

Late afternoon was the best time. The humans arrived then to set things up for the evening. They’d come around and remove the heavy fabric covers from the cages and feed the monsters within. The front and back entrances to the tent would be opened and a large fan set up at one end. The air inside would cool considerably and the stench of demons and spilled alcohol would be blown away. Somebody would bring Spike a plastic bottle of cold cow’s blood and he’d sip at it slowly, watching the humans clean up the creatures’ cages—they could skip his, since he didn’t piss and shite—and sweep and take the chairs down off of the tables. He’d ignore the Fyarl demon in the cage next to his, which snarled silently at him and rattled its bars, and instead gazed at the thin, sparkling thing in the cage opposite, who’d gaze back sadly, his threadbare wings drooping brokenly behind him. Spike wished they still had their voices. He’d never spoken with a fairy before.

Shortly after the sun set, a human would come and demand that Spike hand over the empty bottle and that he change to his demon face. In the first days of his captivity, Spike had resisted, silently mouthing obscenities and refusing to play along. But then the human would only activate the shock collar that was tightly locked around his throat, and soon the pain would cause him to involuntarily vamp out anyhow. Within less than a week, Spike was obeying the human’s orders, and now his wordless curses were aimed at himself.

The fangs and the yellow eyes and the bumpy brows were more amusing than his human face to the customers who would soon start to trickle in. And at least to some extent, Spike didn’t really mind looking like a vampire all night. Somehow it made him feel less exposed as he huddled, naked under the gazes of drunken, laughing people.

The Fyarl would spend the night shaking its cage, its impotent rage delighting the customers. The fairy was nearly as entertaining to them as he sobbed voicelessly, his tears like tiny crystals. But Spike did neither. He sat and clutched his arms around his knees and stared straight ahead, his face emotionless and his mind as near a blank as he could make it. Even when a person occasionally tossed his or her drink at him, splashing him with sticky, sour sweetness, Spike didn’t react. He’d lick the vile stuff off of himself later, when the people had all gone home and the cover was back over his cage. A bath was high up on the things he tried not to allow himself to wish for. Almost as high as the rescue he was fairly certain would never arrive.

 

Spike didn’t notice him at first. He was simply standing behind the rope, staring at Spike just like all the other customers. He had a bottle of beer in his hand, and, like most of the men in the tent, he was dressed in expensive jeans and a carefully weathered t-shirt. His was blue, with the skull of a longhorned steer silkscreened on it in black. The female customers tended more toward flouncy short skirts and low-cut camisoles.

Perhaps it was the intensity of his stare that finally made Spike aware of him, or the fact that he stayed put while the other onlookers moved on to the next cage. In any case, eventually Spike’s fuzzy mind sharpened, and he met the blue eyes that were trained on his, and he recognized their owner.

If he could have groaned, he would have.

He wasn’t surprised to discover the man up and walking around again. As he himself had experienced, death didn’t seem to be much of an obstacle for Wolfram and Hart. He did wonder slightly what the man was doing here, in Las Vegas, but then he reckoned the evil law firm likely had plenty of presence here. Even more so now that they’d given up on Los Angeles, apparently.

He hid his face in his arms and tried not to imagine the ways in which his already bleak situation was about to get even worse.

He didn’t look up again until the tent was nearly silent, and one of the nightclub’s employees appeared to drape the fabric over his cage. Lindsey was gone, and Spike wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved. Surely the man must want some kind of revenge, and Spike would just as soon find out quickly what form that was going to take. He never had been patient, even if it was only suffering he was facing.

 

Several days later, and still no further sign of Lindsey. Spike stretched his cramped body as best as he could, and sipped at his blood, and smiled sadly at the fairy, whose glow was almost extinguished. The fairy had been beautiful when Spike was first brought here, the light about him so bright Spike nearly feared combustion. He was still beautiful, really, even though his silvery hair was lank and the shine so dim Spike’s sensitive eyes could barely make it out. He’d had a nice smell, as well, like lavender and orange blossoms, but that had faded too.

Spike curled into a tight ball and hid his face in his hands and, for the first time since he’d been captured, he cried.

“Spike.”

Lindsey was wearing a suit today. An expensive one in charcoal gray, with a cobalt shirt that was somehow crisp despite the heat, and a red tie. His face was unnaturally pale, though, almost as pale as a vampire’s. Spike wondered if he was still human. He didn’t have any scent at all, at least as far as Spike could detect.

When Lindsey saw that he had Spike’s attention, he ducked under the rope. A couple of the club’s employees were sweeping nearby, and they watched curiously, but didn’t stop their work. Lindsey had a key in his hand. “I’m gonna unlock the cage. No funny business, okay? You can’t really damage me much anyway, and I’d rather not be pullin’ fangs out of my throat. Okay?”

Some response seemed expected, so Spike wiped the tears from his face and nodded once.

Lindsey fit the key into the lock and swung the cage door open. It squealed loudly. It had been months since it had been opened last. Lindsey gestured at him and Spike slowly, cautiously, crawled out. He tried to stand but immediately collapsed. He hadn’t had any weight on his legs since he’d been stuffed into the cage.

Lindsey swore under his breath and then stooped down to grasp Spike under his arms. By supporting most of himself on the man, Spike was able to stand, one arm tightly gripping Lindsey’s shoulders. The fabric of his suit felt strange against Spike’s bare skin. “C’mon,” Lindsey said, and he dragged Spike to the rope. Spike crumpled again when Lindsey unhooked the rope from its stand, and Lindsey hauled him upright again.

It became clear that Lindsey intended them to proceed to the back of the tent. But Spike baulked, stubbornly dragging his feet.

“Come _on_!” Lindsey said. I ain’t got all day. I ain’t gonna hurt you, okay?” Spike didn’t believe him, but that wasn’t the point. He raised his hand and motioned toward the caged fairy, who was watching the small drama with great interest.

“What?” Lindsey demanded.

Spike gestured again.

“What the hell do you want, Spike?”

Spike sighed. He pointed as his mouth and shook his head.

Finally, Lindsey seemed to get the idea. “You can’t talk?”

Spike shook his head.

“Christ. Why not?”

Spike simply rolled his eyes.

Lindsey frowned and then yelled, “Hey! You with the brooms! Why can’t he talk?”

A short, Latino kid with a round babyface answered. “It’s a spell, sir. Otherwise, they get really noisy, and they annoy the customers.”

“Fuck,” Lindsey muttered. “Okay, we’ll deal with that later. Let’s go.”

Once more, though, Spike pointed at the fairy, and this time he made a twisting motion with his hand as well.

“Spike, I can’t free everything. Just you.”

Spike planted his feet and shook his head doggedly. He was probably too weak to resist for long, but he wasn’t about to simply walk away and leave the fairy to die in his cage.

“Jesus Christ,” Lindsey said. But he pulled Spike over to the fairy, and he let Spike slither back down to the floor while he unlocked the bars. As soon as the cage was open, the fairy emerged and then stood on wobbly matchstick legs. He was tall, Spike could see now. Well over six feet. His wingspan was enormous. He bowed at Lindsey once, gravely, and then made his way the few steps to where Spike was sprawled on his arse. The fairy knelt, gathered Spike in arms that were surprisingly strong, and pressed his mouth to Spike’s. His lips were soft and dry, and his breath tasted of blackberries. Then the fairy pulled away, and as Spike gaped in shock, the fairy gave him a radiant smile as all his brilliant light returned in a rush. The fairy held up a single long finger, waggled it slightly as if it meant something significant, and then, in a mown hay-scented flash, disappeared.

“Fuck,” Lindsey said again. “Partners are gonna be on my ass over that one, too.”

Spike didn’t resist any more as Lindsey half-carried him to the back entrance. The other caged demons wailed silently as they passed. For a moment he thought the man was going to drag him right out into the sun, and he wouldn’t have resisted that, either. But Lindsey stopped and again let Spike fall to the ground. “Hang on a sec,” he said.

 A black BMW had been backed up very close to the tent. Lindsey pulled some keys out of his pocket and, with a small beep, the boot popped open. Lindsey strode over and pulled a heavy blanket out, which he then brought over to Spike. He’d draped it over Spike’s head and shoulders, so all Spike saw as the man dragged him to the car was the wood floor giving way to hard-packed, sandy dirt. Then Lindsey was shoving him into the boot, and Spike curled up as Lindsey slammed the lid closed.

The car stopped and started as they drove across the city. Spike could have escaped, but he’d only have burnt up if he did, so he stayed where he was, hot and choking on exhaust fumes.

Eventually, the car came to a halt and, a moment later, the boot opened again. Spike was ready to dive under the blanket, but then he saw they were in a covered car park. Lindsey hauled him out and hung the blanket around his shoulders. Still moving slowly and awkwardly, with Lindsey helping to support him, Spike walked to a lift. Lindsey punched the button and the doors opened quickly. Lindsey pressed another button inside, the one for the top floor. Spike slumped against the walls as they rose.

On the 18th floor, Lindsey led Spike to one of the two doors, which he unlocked. Inside was a spacious flat, but Spike hung back near the door when he saw the large windows that dominated the opposite wall. “This way,” Lindsey said. They went off to the side, down a short hallway, and into a small bedroom. The window was carefully covered with heavy curtains. The room was furnished sparely, just a low bed and a sleek chest of drawers and a flat-screen television on the wall. Another doorway off to one side gave a glimpse of a bathroom.

“I need to make some calls, and then we have to have a discussion,” Lindsey said. “You want a bath while I’m on the phone?”

Spike nodded vigorously. Whatever the lawyer had in mind for him, at least he’d be clean for it.

Spike let the blanket slip from his shoulders onto the floor. Lindsey helped him sit on the edge of the bath while he ran the water. “Hot?” Lindsey asked. Spike nodded again. It didn’t take long for the bath to fill, and then Lindsey assisted him as he climbed inside. Bloody hell. It felt like heaven.

As soon as Spike was settled, Lindsey disappeared. Spike simply lay there for a bit, enjoying not only the feeling of the water, but also the opportunity to stretch his legs. There was a cake of soap in a holder—nothing fancy, just plain old Ivory—and after a time Spike reached for it and used it to carefully scrub every bit of his body. Every bit but the part of his neck that was encircled by the bloody collar, that is. There was a tiny bottle of shampoo as well, and Spike wondered if Lindsey had nicked it from a hotel. Spike used the entire bottle to wash his hair, which had grown into long, matted curls.

Spike was still trying to tease those snarls out with his fingers when Lindsey returned. He’d changed out of the suit and was now wearing some worn Levi’s and a faded red and white Sooners t-shirt with several small holes in the hem. He looked more relaxed than Spike recalled ever seeing him. “Ready to get out?” he asked.

Spike nodded and pulled the plug. He needed only a little help to climb over the edge of the bath, and Lindsey handed him a thick, white towel. Spike knotted it around his hips and leaned slightly on Lindsey’s arm as Lindsey led them out of the bathroom and toward the bed.

As soon as Spike was seated on the bed, Lindsey leaned toward him. Spike flinched away. “Hey, it’s okay. Just gonna get that collar off, okay?” So Spike stilled as Lindsey fiddled with the piece of metal, mumbling some numbers to himself as he did. There must be some kind of combination lock, Spike reckoned. The collar had just felt like smooth metal to his own probing fingers. There was a tiny click, and Spike sighed with relief as the collar came away in Lindsey’s hands. Lindsey tossed it onto the bed.

There was now nothing at all to stop Spike from attacking Lindsey. At least, nothing obvious. But Spike was still mindful of what the man had said earlier, about Spike not being able to hurt him. He might be lying, of course. But he also hadn’t done anything yet to hurt Spike, and so the vampire decided to wait and see what the man was up to.

“I got the counter-spell to that voice hex. Want me to do it now?” Spike nodded decisively. Christ, to be able to talk again! Losing his speech had been nearly as bad as losing his freedom.

Lindsey said a few words in a language Spike had never heard before. There was an odd tingling in his throat, sort of a tickling, and then a painful but brief tearing sensation.

“Aah!” Spike cried.

Lindsey grinned at him. “It worked!”

“What—“ His voice was jagged and gravelly. He cleared his throat and tried again. “What are you doing?”

“Rescuing you, moron.”

“Why?” The rest was left unsaid. Lindsey had manipulated Spike, tricked him into thinking Lindsey was a friend and ally. And then, a bit later, when Lindsey truly was their ally—at least for the time being—Angel had had him murdered, with Spike’s full knowledge and implicit support. Each of them had ample reason to hate the other.

Lindsey sat heavily on the bed next to Spike and stared at his own bare feet. “I dunno, man. When I saw you at the club…I was just gonna leave you there. Figured either you could rot there, or else Angel would come tryin’ to save you and then I’d have a chance to get at him. Either was okay with me.”

“Angel wouldn’t come to save me.”

Lindsey looked at him quizzically. “Why not? You two have a fallin’ out?”

“Not…not exactly. We had a big row. Another one. And I left. Got caught only a few days later, too drunk to be careful. I expect the ponce doesn’t even know, just reckons I’ve left for good this time.”

“Ah.”

Neither said anything for a few moments. Then, Spike almost whispered, “So why did you rescue me, then?”

“I kept…kept picturin’ you in that fucking cage. Dreamed about it, even. I dunno. I figured when Wolfram and Hart resurrected me, they didn’t bother with whatever conscience I’d once had. But maybe they missed it. Or…or maybe I grew a new one. Anyway, it wasn’t right.” He shrugged.

“And you just came in and let me go?”

“That part was easy. The firm owns the club, you know.” Spike hadn’t, but he wasn’t at all surprised. “In a few days my boss is gonna hear what I did, and he’s gonna be pissed at me. But what’s he gonna do? Kill me? Send me to hell?” He smiled wryly. “Already done that.”

Spike thought about all this for several minutes while Lindsey toyed with the seam on his jeans. Finally, Lindsey spoke again. “I figure you can rest up here for a few days. I’ll, uh, get you some clothes, too. You can be a free vamp.”

“Okay,” said Spike quietly.

Lindsey stood. “Why don’t you relax? I’ll bring you some blood later, okay?”

The bed did feel very inviting. “Ta,” Spike replied.

 

It was nearly a week before Spike was up to full strength, although the human blood Lindsey had obtained—hospital rejects, he said—certainly helped. The two of them had spoken very little as Spike recovered. In fact, Spike spent most of the time in his room, staring at the telly without really registering what was on it. He felt like he could sleep for a lifetime. Sometimes he considered wandering into the living room during the day, while Lindsey was at work, and standing in the beams of light that poured in through the windows. But he…couldn’t, quite.

He thought of the fairy, and wished him well, wherever he was.

Lindsey had brought him some clothes, and on the evening of the seventh day, Spike pulled them on. It felt strange to be wearing something again, almost as if he were putting on a costume. When Lindsey came home that evening, an hour or so after sunset, Spike was sitting in the living room, waiting for him.

Lindsey startled slightly when he saw him. “Gonna leave?”

Spike nodded. “Yeah. It’s time.”

Was that sadness he saw flash across Lindsey’s face? But Lindsey fished in his pocket and pulled out his keys, which he tossed at Spike. Spike caught them. “Take my car,” Lindsey said. “I was gonna get a new one anyway.”

“The firm gives you everything you want, yeah?”

Lindsey regarded him silently for a moment, and then said, “All the toys, yeah.”

As Spike walked to the door, Lindsey took out his wallet and held out a wad of bills. “Here. Gas money.”

Spike took the cash.

“Are you gonna…gonna go back to him?”

Slowly, Spike nodded. “Yeah, I expect so.” Where else did he have to go?

“You’ll have to tell him about me, won’t you? That I’m…alive. That I’m here.”

Again, Spike nodded.

“Okay.” Oddly, Lindsey didn’t look upset at that truth, nor even resigned. He almost looked hopeful, really.

Spike’s hand was on the door, but he stopped and turned, and walked a few steps back to Lindsey. Without truly planning to do so, he embraced him and then kissed him. Unlike the fairy’s kiss, this one was hard and fierce, and Lindsey moaned against him. When Spike pulled away some time later, Lindsey clutched at him desperately, just for a second, before letting go.

Without another word, Spike left. He took the lift down to the garage, and there was the BMW. He climbed inside and started it up, enjoying the way the powerful engine felt under his control. He planned to stop at a certain nightclub and let loose a few demons. And then in just a few hours, he’d be back in LA, back with Angel.

He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be back home.  
 

_  
\---fin---  
_

 


End file.
